


All That Pushes and Pulls

by eudaimon



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaimon/pseuds/eudaimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magus has been in love many times over the course of his life; it's never felt quite like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Pushes and Pulls

It’s been warm all day but it’s still April so the evening air is chilly. He forgets that, though, when he’s through the door of the club, where everything is dark and warm and close. There’s a moistness to the air that reminds him of high summer, a scent of beer and an edge of sweat and Alexander Lightwood walking ahead of him, already stripped out of his leather, the thin stuff of his shirt sticking across his shoulder blades. Magnus finds himself distracted by the lines that make up Alec’s body – the push and pull of him. His jeans have a tear under the back pocket, showing black cotton snug beneath. The runes on his skin are stark and beautiful in the strobing lights.

Magnus wants to touch every inch of him. 

For now, though, he reaches out and fists his fingers in the fabric of Alec’s shirt, half to hold onto him, half to prove to himself that any of this is real at all.

Magnus has always thought that the beautiful thing about New York is that it sets its own circadian rhythms - someone is always awake and dancing at any hour of the day or night, be it the tired or the dreamers. At the bar, Alec leans on his elbows, shouts an order into the cupped ear of a beautiful girl with one side of her hair shaved stubble short. Magnus stands close behind him and his hands find Alec’s hips, the sliver of skin between belt and shirt. He strokes circles with his thumbs; Alec glances over his shoulder and grins, flushed and lovely, and Magnus feels something contract in his chest. It's a cliché but he doesn’t give a shit - maybe there are only so many ways to feel when you’re in love? After all, Shakespeare’s been dead for a long, long time and all of this has been done before them. It'll be done after them, too...

...But maybe not exactly the way that they’re doing it, right now. Some days, every minute feels borrowed. They live on other people’s luck. Not any kind of magic that Magnus knows. But close.

The beer is cold and sharp and, when they kiss, Alec’s mouth is cold and sharp too. The kiss has edges. Magnus turns his head to the side and drinks the last swallow from the bottle, empty too quickly. They dance, pressed close. Warmth floods through him; he’s already sweating but he feels it anyway - a new flush of heat. He leans in and catches Alec’s mouth, his hand slipping between them, pressing against the outline of Alec's cock through his jeans. He has a strong, sensory memory of the first time he did this – the thrill of touching Alec like that. How easily things have become habit. How things change without changing.

Suddenly, he doesn’t want to dance anymore. He doesn’t give a shit what Robert Smith thinks, about love or anything else. Old as he is, with all of the things he's seen, he's not sure that he's ever seen anyone as beautiful, ever wanted anyone with quite this heat.

It's funny how things turn out.

Magnus reaches out, slipping one arm around Alec's waist and pulling him closer. The thin fabric of Alec's shirt clings across his shoulders and his chest; there's glitter smudged across one high cheekbone. Magnus leans in, brushes his lips against Alec's skin.

"So," he says, one hand slipping up under the back of Alec's shirt, his whole palm pressed against Alec's skin, "This is fun and all, but you know what would be more fun?"

Alec rolls his eyes a little, but he's smiling.

"No," he says. "But I bet I can guess."

Magnus pulls him in and kisses him, right there and then in the middle of the club, the push and pull of the bodies. There's a moment's hesitation in Alec, a moment's reserve and then his arm is sliding around Magnus' neck, holding him to the kiss for a moment longer. Suddenly, every fibre of Magnus' carefully chosen outfit seems to be chafing against his skin. He leans forward, one knee pressed between Alec's, his mouth grazing against the pulse jumping in Alec's throat.

"I could fuck you here," he says, and they both know he won't, but the temptation's there. Any sound Alec might make gets lost in the throb of the music, but Magnus can feel the way that his body answers, the press of his hips, the way his hand tightens, grasping a fistful of shirt over Magnus' hip. They both know he won't, because he wants to be able to take his time, in a wide bed, wants to be able to tease and to take until Alec can't stand it anymore.

It's possible that he's given it some thought.

*

There are quicker ways to get there, but they walk home, holding hands, pausing to kiss like teenagers on street corners. Alec laughs and slips a hand between them, his palm grazing over the outline of Magnus' cock before he takes it away. Knowing Alec as he does, it seems unbelievably sweet and bold. Magnus bites his lip, squeezes Alec's ass with two hands.

He can't remember the last time he felt this young.  
It's...unexpected. It's _marvelous_.

In the apartment, Magnus waves a hand, turns on enough lamps to lend the room a warm glow. He pours a drink and sits, leaning back on the sofa, looking up at Alec. He bites his lip, tilting his head. 

"Take your clothes off."

What Magnus has long known about Alec Lightwood is this: that such a high level of self-control costs the boy in front of him dearly and that nothing in the world feels better than actually being able to let go. For whatever reason, Alec trusts Magnus enough to hand control over to him completely. And Magnus? Is more than willing to take the reins.

He takes a sip of his drink as Alec shrugs out of his jacket, leather hitting the floor with a satisfyingly heavy sound. His breath catches as Alec wraps long fingers in the hem of his t-shirt and starts to tug it upwards, revealing runs and toned muscle, sparse hair spangling tanned skin. Magnus fakes nonchalance, but his eyes are fixed on Alec, every inch of revealed skin. His cock twitches as Alec drops his t-shirt. Alec's hands go to his belt.

"God, I just want to bend you over and fuck you," says Magnus, losing the edges of the words to laughter. This is how Alec makes him feel: giddy and reckless. Like everything is possible. Like weight has lifted.

Alec's grin is sudden, brilliant. He undoes his belt achingly slowly, pulls it free of the loops in his jeans.

"Do it," he says, and there's a tilt of a challenge, the hint of a warrior, in the way he holds his chin. "I can take it."

"Oh, I know you can take it, Alexander," says Magnus, pushing up from the sofa in one fluid movement. "And wouldn't it be a pretty picture? You bent over with your jeans around your ankles?"

He presses his hand against Alec's chest just in time to feel him shiver, trails that hand down and cups the hardening line of Alec's cock through his jeans.

"Do it," says Alec again, and his chin hasn't lost that very particular tilt that just makes Magnus want to take and take, fuck him until he begs, until he's beautiful in acquiescence, in something like surrender. It's all the more beautiful when it's Alec because it's hard won, even when it's freely given. "I want it."

Without another word, Magnus pulls Alec's jeans open and shoves them down around his thighs, taking black underwear with them all the way down to his ankles. With a hand on the back of Alec's neck, he bends the younger man over until he's all but sprawled, almost on his knees, with the arm of the sofa biting into his belly, his cheek pressed against the cushions. The position has the benefit of splaying Alec open, leaving nothing hidden. It exposes him, frames balls and hardening cock between spread thighs.

It's _beautiful_.

He could, of course, use magic to take away the need for messy preliminaries, but there's a part of him (a _lot_ of him, really) that enjoys it, enjoys feeling the long, slow shudder that goes through Alec's body when Magnus starts to fuck him with well-lubed fingers. He lavishes attention, smirking whenever Alec makes a sound, soft whimpers, barely bitten back groans. When he's sure that Alec's ready to take what he's about to be given, he slaps him - little more than a tap, really - at the top of his thigh, right below the ripe curve of his ass.

"Higher," he instructs. "Show me."

It's intensely gratifying to watch the way Alec squirms to get himself in perfect position, shoves his face against the couch to get that spectacular ass that little bit higher.

Magnus doesn't bother undressing all of the way; there'll be room and time for that, later. He shrugs out of his jacket, undoes his belt and pushes down pants and underwear just enough to free his cock. There's little need for condoms, things being as they are, everyone knowing where they've been. He rubs the head of his cock along the slick cleft of Alec's ass, teasing him a little, grinning when Alec huffs out a little impatient breath.

"Come on, Alexander," he says, free hand holding onto Alec's hip. "Ask nicely for what you want."

"Please," asks Alec, immediately, without hesitation, and Magnus' cock twitches in his fingers. "God, Magnus, _please_ just fuck me."

His hips give this little involuntary wiggle and Magnus can _see_ how much he wants it, how hard he is and it wouldn't be rude not to, wouldn't it? Besides, Magnus Bane has never been in the habit of denying himself something he wants so badly, something that's so freely, beautifully offered.

He slides his cock into Alec's ass, one slow inch at a time. For a moment, they're both still; he gives Alec a moment to adjust. They'd done this enough that Magnus knows how hard Alec can take it, how far he can be pushed. He knows that he doesn't always need to be gentle, that every thrust doesn't need to come with _I love you_. He doesn't need to say it every time, anyway; Alec knows that it's there, stitched carefully into every single touch. Instead, he lets himself get carried away with fucking Alec, with taking what he so desperately _needs_ in that moment. He wraps both hands around Alec's hips, holding him firmly in place as he's fucked. From the angle that he has, he sees the exact moment that Alec completely lets go, drops his head and gratefully takes what he's being given.

He deliberately ignores Alec's cock, beautiful as it is; he has other plans for later. What he wants is for the beautiful boy in front of him to be completely taken apart, begging. Magnus wants Alec Lightwood _undone_ and he wants to know that he's the only one holding the key.

When he's close, his hands tighten on Alec's hip. Somehow, he finds the self control to force himself still. 

"Do you want it, Alexander?" he asks. 

He watches Alec lift his head.

"You know I do."  
"Oh, come now, Alec. You can ask prettier than that."

Alec sighs and Magnus is glad that the position they're in means he doesn't have to hide a smirk. He slaps Alec's beautiful ass instead.

"Well?"  
"Fuck, Magnus. _Please_."

And Magnus doesn't have it in him to deny Alec anything. His self-control is a finely made thing, but, right then, it feels as fragile as something spun out of glass and gossamer. He smooths one hand up Alec's spine, snaps his hips to fuck him hard and deep, the way he wanted to for months and months before the first time he managed to get Alec into bed. He knows that Alec is made of stern stuff. He knows exactly what Alec can take.

He comes so hard that he sees stars spangled across the width of Alec's shoulders, twisted in his dark hair.

For a moment, he can't fathom pulling out, let alone letting Alec up.

When, finally, he's able to pull away, he has both hands on Alec, urging him upright, pulling him into a hard, hungry kiss. He can feel Alec's cock pressed against him, leaking against his belly. Magnus almost drops to his knees right there and then, slide his mouth down over Alec's cock and suck. Magnus has hardly been virtuous over the centuries, considers himself something of a connoisseur, and he's not sure that he's ever seen a cock as beautiful as Alec's, thick and lovely, flushed between strong thighs.

"Bed," he says, squeezing Alec's ass with both hands. "I've got plans for you."

Alec's eyelashes flutter.

"Whatever you say," he says.   
It's the loveliest thing that Magnus has ever heard.

*

Magnus stands back for a moment, naked and well on his way to hard again, and admires his handiwork. It takes so little magic to maintain the restraints that he can barely feel it at all, nothing more than a pleasant buzz in the back of his head. Alec makes such a pretty picture bound to the bed as he is, his wrists drawn together over his head, which makes the muscles in his upper arms and his chest stand out, his legs spread wide, each ankle secured to a separate bed post. At that precise moment, Alec's eyes are closed, his dark eyelashes smudged against his cheek. His teeth worry at his bottom lip. His cock juts proudly above his belly, arching slightly, precum smeared against his skin. Every inch of him is desperate; Magnus can hear it as clearly as he would be able to if Alec was screaming, begging. He leans down, tracing the lines of the run on Alec's belly with the tip of one finger. Alec shivers; his breath out slips into a moan.

Magnus gets up on the bed, swinging his knee across, straddling Alec's hips. He leans forward so that his cock slides against Alec's; his lips graze Alec's in the slightest kiss.

"Are you ready?"

Alec nods, his hips lifting convulsively, like he's already inside Magnus, like they're already fucking.

"You know I am," he says, swallows, remembers himself. "Please, Magnus. _Please_."

He's already done the necessary, bent over where he knew Alec could see him and worked his ass open with his fingers, filth dripping from his lips as he assured Alec that he couldn't wait, could hardly stand the wait until it was Alec's cock inside him instead. He reaches between his thighs, curls his fingers around Alec's cock, smirking at the way Alec's breath catches at even that slight friction. There's an undignified moment where he's getting himself into position and then everything slips into place and it's the easiest thing in the world to slide down onto Alec's cock until he's taking it all, every inch, and they're pressed together, skin to skin.

Alec's fingers flex like he wants to put his hands on Magnus, hold onto his hips or his hands, pull him down for a kiss. Magnus deliberately left virtually no give in the bindings at wrist and ankle because he wanted to watch what Alec's face does as he starts to move, starts to ride him. His hands smooth across the planes of Alec's chest, thumbnails scraping over Alec's nipples, pinching just a little. He rises up onto his knees, far enough that Alec's cock almost slips out of him and then he rocks back down. He fucks Alec thoroughly, deeply, and it feels so, so good that it's not long before there isn't a conscious thought in his head other than moving, keeping moving, the press of Alec's hard cock inside him, the heat of Alec's skin between his thighs.

Magnus has always been a vocal lover. He moans, loudly, the sound echoing off the ceiling. He leans forward, bent almost double to press another kiss to Alec's mouth, pressing deeper with lips and tongue. He's done this so often, with so many people, but he's not sure that it's ever felt as perfect as this.

"I'm going to come again," mumbles Alec, his eyes open, darting between Magnus's face, his mouth, down to his cock, back again. "I can't...I'm not going to be able to…" Beautiful, hectic colour flushes Alec's cheeks. 

"It's okay, Alec," says Magnus, voice barely more than a whisper as he drops one hand to wrap around his own cock, stroking in time with the movement of his hips, the slide of Alec's cock inside him. He feels blood flush his own cheeks, knowing that Alec is watching this, every single moment of it for him. "You can come. You _should_. I want it."

Alec makes this little sound that Magnus isn't sure that he's ever heard him make before - grateful and broken, all at the same time. Magnus feels Alec's cock twitch as he starts to come and it feels so good, so close to worship, that it's only another stroke or two of his fingers before he's coming himself, shooting hot and wet across the tense, trembling muscles of Alec's stomach and chest. For a moment, all he can do is sit there, trembling, Alec's cock still buried inside him. It takes real effort to straight up onto his knees, to separate them, and then, without conscious thought, he's swaying onto all fours, catching his weight on his hands and leaning down, open mouth to Alec's skin, licking up every single drop.

A wave of his hand dismisses the bindings. Magnus is shocked by the speed and fluidity of the way that Alec reaches for him, wrapping both arms around his shoulders, pulling his body in close. Magnus feels boneless, used up. He curls close, one leg thrown across Alec's thighs, his head pillowed on Alec's shoulder.

"That was…"  
Even after all of this time, he finds himself lost for words.

Alec swallows, nods.

"Keeps getting better," he says.  
Magus presses a smile against Alec's skin in place of a kiss.

*

 

He imagines New York as seen from above, by satellites and astronauts, but also by winged things. The way its monuments are indistinct. The way it must bleed light. He pictures it throbbing like a heart, many ventricled. The parks are echoing chambers; their park is a little pocket of lymph and void. Yeah, New York would be a heart. Or a brain, firing synapses, one thought after another, genius level, faster than light.

He thinks about these things while sitting in the kitchen, the window brightening, watching Alec make coffee, dressed in nothing but his underwear. They’ve been out of bed for about five minutes. Alec’s hair is tumbled and sleep-tousled. Outside the light is still voilet but it’s got the promise of another beautiful day. 

The chair makes an ugly sound against the tiled floor when Magnus pushes back from the table. Alec glances over his shoulder. At some point during the night, Magus sucked up a mark on his collarbone, jewel-like and violent. 

“Hey,” he says, but Magnus isn’t feeling particularly verbal right that second. He wraps both arms around Alec from behind, feels the strength of him, pressed against him, skin to skin. They sway together on the balls of their feet while the coffee brews. One of Magnus’ hands ends up against Alec’s chest, the other against his belly and, just like that, they’re dancing, awake and dancing, picking up the slack where the tired ones and the dreamers are just now starting to come down.


End file.
